


ten out of ten would smash again

by astralgolds



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Boys In Love, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Dorks in Love, Ex-Boyfriends AU, Gay Keith (Voltron), I'll add more tags as the story progresses, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Korean Keith (Voltron), M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), as much as i love pining keith that probably won't be the main focus, bicurious lance, characters may seem ooc ig, i like pre-kerberos klance, i love keith so much i can only write him from lance pov, i'll probably throw in some shallura and hunay later on, lots of pre-kerberos im love these smol beans, they're fifteen at the beginning so, warning: excessive use of italics, why is cuban missile crisis a tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 10:44:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14975507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astralgolds/pseuds/astralgolds
Summary: Keith714-XXX-XXXsorry for spilling a drink on youCall me when you figure out what you wantLance arched an eyebrow. Okay…Was this Keith dude, like, hitting on him or? He turned over the paper, not having realized Keith wrote something on the back.-Fucking indecisive prick.-Yeah, he rolled his eyes not unlike Keith had before, definitely not hitting on him.[in which lance and keith had a fetus summer romance before being vaulted up into space.]





	ten out of ten would smash again

**Author's Note:**

> um so i'm going into high school this august so i literally don't know how the world works pls be gentle with me

Lance McClain met Keith Kogane in the center of an overcrowded mall in Irvine when they were both fifteen. Like the rude hipster he was, Kogane had been sporting his then-signature _blaring_ red beanie and those annoying as hell rainbow elastic bands resting lazily on his left wrist. The damn bitch didn't have the right to be so fucking cute. Alas, Lance was cursed. All of the hot guys were asshats and all of the cute girls weren't too keen on the idea of a Cuban boyfriend who knew more about proper skin care than they did.

Getting back on topic, Keith Kogane was a righteous asshole and Lance knew this within the first three minutes of knowing him. What can he say? He had a fantastic grasp on judging good character—something Keith clearly did not have. Veronica told him he was being an idiot, but Lance thought that her inclination toward the Korean teen had more to do with his pretty face rather than his dazzling personality. Heaven knows how rude the guy was to Veronica when he first met her, speaking in curt nods and muttered monosyllables. Fucking ass.

(Speaking of asses, Keith had an ass. A very nice ass, in fact. One that Lance had shamefully stared at for the better part of those three minutes. But that wasn't the topic, now, was it?)

No, no, he had to give Keith a _bit_ of leeway. Lance didn't simply despise the other tween _purely_ based on his contemptible character, rather an unfortunate encounter that had left the Cuban teen grinding his teeth for a full week. (His brother and roommate - Luis - would not stop complaining about the irritating sound for _ages_.)

Lance had been applying for the new opening at Barnes & Noble at the Irvine Spectrum, when Keith rudely and very intentionally went out of his way to knock his frappuccino straight onto his nice button-up. The _nerve_. It had gone a little like this—

* * *

Lance was nervous. Recently turning fifteen only a few months before freshman year, he barely felt ready to start SAT prep, let alone get a minimum wage job. However, it was an age-old tradition in the McClain household to start working at fifteen, and Lance wasn’t about to be the one to break it.

His mamá had grinned at his admission one night, and happily agreed to helping him get ready for his first ever job interview. Getting a job in Southern California was…in short, fucking terrifying. There were already all of these stigmas about Latinxs (the words _thief_ , _drug dealer_ , _rapist_ cling to his skin after a particularly racist verbal beatdown he had experienced back in eighth grade), and the added pressure of living in a highly industrialized and kind of “famous” part of the U.S. kind of made Lance feel small. It wasn't as though he lived in a bad neighborhood or anything—quite the opposite, actually, Irvine was beautiful—it was just…the child actors, the high academic expectations, and the competitiveness of everything in general in California that made Lance a little bit more nervous about this whole job thing.

Anyhow, his mamá helped him as he nervously buttoned his neatly ironed blue shirt and smoothed out his (ugly) khaki pants by speaking small encouragements in rapid fire Spanish that had him blushing all the way down to his collarbone. He loved his mamá and everything she did for him, truly. She dropped him off a block away from the mall, knowing he'd need to walk and talk to himself to both psych himself up and talk himself down and everything was absolutely wonderful.

Lance had made a quick stop at Starbucks (a green tea frappuccino because he couldn't ingest anything else without vomiting on the spot at the moment) and was quietly muttering to himself when—

 _SPLASH._ A colorful mix of green tea frap and whatever-berry Jamba Juice playfully fought for dominance on the pale blue fabric, dripping in disgustingly slow motion onto the dusty concrete, until all that remained was a spectacular brown splotch where pristine baby blue should’ve been displayed.

“Whoops,” muttered the emo-mullet-dude-in-a-beanie. Fuck, this guy was hot. His eyes were the prettiest shade of violet Lance had ever seen, somehow bright and stormy all at the same time. It took Lance six seconds to realize those boundless galaxy-purple eyes were glaring deep into his. “The fuck are you staring at?”

It took Lance three more seconds to react.

“What am I looking at?” the Cuban boy scoffed, eyes shifting up and down to get a good look at the catastrophe causing _monster_. “I’m looking at the rude guy who wasn’t paying enough attention to maneuver around me, and dump his freaking smoothie and my own drink on my nice shirt!” Emo-mullet-dude-in-a-beanie (with a really nice ass) didn’t even have a drop on him. Typical. “I have a job interview today, you know!”

Beanie emo rolled his eyes, “It takes two to tango, idiot, you weren’t exactly paying attention either.”

“That’s ‘cuz I’m nervous for my fucking interview, okay, dude?” Lance exclaimed dramatically. “I’m spazzed as shit. Literally had to get decaf because caffeine would’ve had me vibrating as I stand.”

“And I care about your life, why?” Mullet dude rolled his eyes again. He seemed to do that a lot. “Look, dude, I’m sorry for bumping into you or whatever. Want me to buy you a shirt or a coffee? Make this a meet cute instead of a verbal assault?”

Lance was dumbfounded, “A _meet cute_? Are you shitting me right now?”

“Bitch, I don’t know,” Red beanie sighed. “What do you want from me?”

“Bitch, I _know_ you didn’t just call me bitch,” the blue-eyed boy sassed. “And I want, uh, a, uh, um…”

Galaxy eyes slumped his shoulders, looking utterly exasperated as most people tended to within 0.00278 seconds of talking with Lance, and reached into his trendy small backpack (wow, Lance’s sisters had like seven of those, _each_ ), pulling out a small notepad and a black felt pen. After quickly scribbling something down, Purple emo tore the paper off the pad, hurriedly shoving it into the Cuban boy’s hand before strutting off like a fucking model. (Shit, were those _skinny_ jeans?)

_Keith_

_714-XXX-XXX_

_sorry for spilling a drink on you_

_Call me when you figure out what you want_

Lance arched an eyebrow. Okay…Was this Keith dude, like, hitting on him or? He turned over the paper, not having realized Keith wrote something on the back.

_-Fucking indecisive prick.-_

_Yeah_ , he rolled his eyes not unlike Keith had before, _definitely not hitting on him._

* * *

He ended up having to buy a white band T-shirt—a gradient red-to-blue skull with the words Panic! At the Disco printed on it because it had been the first damn shirt he had seen—with the spare twenty bucks he had in his uncomfortable khaki pockets, and his outfit looked wildly mismatched, especially considering he was going to his first job interview. Lance supposed it could have been worse. A random not-cute stranger could’ve bumped into him in a place where there were absolutely no clothing shops available. One would be lying if they said Lance McClain wasn’t appreciative, if he did say so himself.

Still, the fifteen-year-old strutted into that Barnes & Noble with all the confidence he wished he had, greeting the cute cashier lady with a flirtatious wink that had her shaking her head, and strolling to the customer service.

“Hell _o_ ,” Lance drawled, elongating the ‘o’ in hopes he was achieving a somewhat casual tone to cover up his nerves. “I’m Lance McClain. I was wondering where I am supposed to go for my interview?”

The lady at the desk—Clarisse, her name tag read—smiled politely in the way people who work in retail tended to do.

“The manager should be out soon,” she said. “You were one of the applicants from online?”

“Yes,” Lance replied quickly, tapping his foot rapidly. “My meeting is at eleven, I believe?”

“Ah, yes,” said Clarisse. “He’ll be right out. At the moment, he is interviewing one of the other applicants. Good luck.”

Her smile this time seemed slightly more genuine after observing he was simply a nervous youth.

“Thanks,” smiled Lance. After a pause, “Clarisse.”

She flashed her teeth one last time before resuming typing. In a weirdly perfect sort of timing, the manager strolled up to the customer service desk, followed closely by who Lance could only assume was the other applicant.

The manager himself had a sort of kind face. His wrinkles indicated laughter lines and crow’s feet. His beard was salt ‘n’ pepper and bushy. He had a bit of a receding hairline and bits of gray hair, demonstrating his age. Nevertheless, his eyes were kind, and his mouth upturned into a kind smile.

The applicant was admittedly pretty cute. Nice shoes, pretty eyelashes, and cool hipster kind of red beanie…wait.

“You!” Lance hissed at the other boy. _Keith_ , if his little note was any indication.

“Me,” deadpanned Hipster-beanie-with-pretty-eyes. “Nice to see you again.” His tone of voice betrayed just how _nice_ he actually thought it was.

“You too,” Lance gritted out. If he wanted to get this job, he couldn’t come across as some immature, petty, grudge-holding _child._ Even though that was exactly what he was.

Sensing the awkward tension in the air, the manager turned _Keith_ with a small smile, holding out his hand.

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Kogane,” he smiled kindly, firmly shaking the applicant’s hand. “You’ll be hearing back from us soon.”

“You, too, Mr. Barnett,” Keith responded professionally, returning the handshake just as firmly. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

His (gorgeous) eyes narrowed when looking at Lance. Under his breath, he muttered “asshat” as he left, much to the other boy’s irritation.

(And if Lance snuck a few glances at his cute butt on his way out, no one needed to know.)

“So, you must be Mr. Lance McClain,” the manager began jovially, reaching out his hand. “My name is Jonathan Barnett. Pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, sir,” Lance responded automatically, taking his hand and shaking it.

“Please, call me Jonathan.”

There was kind twinkle in his eye, slightly mischievous, but Lance was more preoccupied by the fact that _technically_ by touching Mr. Barnett’s hand, he was kinda sorta indirectly touching Keith’s hand, too.

* * *

“ _Sí, mamá,_ ” Lance exclaimed energetically into the phone. “I totally nailed that interview. He loved me! Even though I don't have any prior work experience, I could tell he wanted me on the job.”

He was currently sitting in the corner of a Starbucks. He hadn’t yet bought anything due to the length of the line, so he was waiting it out until the line got shorter. He _needed_ a victory latte or something, if only to ride out this high.

“ _That’s wonderful, mijo,_ ” said his mother over the phone. “ _I’m glad to see you upholding traditions. And you finally had a reason to take your nice button up out of the drawer for reasons besides church! The whole world got to see you looking so handsome._ ”

Lance blushed. Then, his brow furrowed, “Ah, _mamá_ …You see, about that…”

“ _Que pasó_?” his mamá suddenly took on a mildly derisive tone.

“Well, some assh— _lo siento_ , _yo quiero decir_ some rude person bumped into me and spilled his drink all over my shirt,” Lance frowned. “And he didn't even have a splotch on him! It was as if the universe were out to get me! And, to make matters worse, he was another applicant for the same job as me. Like, what are the odds? It’s almost as if he decided to do it on purpose…” Lance gasped. “Oh, my God, what if he’s out to get me? What if he pulled the same thing with all of the other applicants to ensure that _he_ gets the—”

“ _Cálmate, cielito_ !” sighed his mother fondly. “ _No es necesario ser tan dramático._ It’s not that deep, _amor_. No one wants a part-time job at Barnes and Noble that badly.”

“You’re right,” Lance chuckled. “I guess it was just all of the excitement.”

The door opened, signaled by the tell-tale jingle. Reflexively, Lance looked up, only to lock eyes with the notorious soggy piece of bread called _Keith_ . He prayed to himself that he would only get in line and pretend one another doesn't exist. However, luck wouldn't have it. With an attitude and an ass that just wouldn’t quit (an _assitude_ ), Keith made his way to Lance’s table.

“ _Mamá, te_ _veré más tarde,_ ” Lance said quickly, switching to Spanish so that Keith wouldn’t be able to understand him. “ _Ronnie me está recogiendo en una hora, y acabo de ver lo más_ genial _cosa en una tienda. Te amo, y adiós._ ” He blew a kiss into the phone.

“ _Espere_ _—_ ” Mrs. McClain started, but Lance had already hung up.

Within seconds, Keith decisively plopped his stupid, trendy backpack (that had a cute little cat face on it, aww) at Lance’s table, and his own self in the chair across from him. His eyes narrowed, trapping Lance in his intense gaze. After a couple seconds of awkward eye contact, Lance spoke up.

“So, uh, what are you doing here?” he asked, a tad uncomfortable.

“You’re annoying,” said the other boy. “And a bit of a dickwad.”

“Erm, thanks,” Lance responded dryly. “Anything else you want to add?”

“I feel bad, though,” Keith stated, matter-of-fact. “So, do you want a drink or a shirt?”

“I already have shirt,” was all Lance can say, a million thoughts running through his mind. Like, _what is this dude’s deal? Can’t he just write this shit off as an awkward encounter and move on?_

“Drink it is then,” Keith nodded, looking proud of himself. It was kind of adorable. “What do you want?”

“Caramel macchiato,” Lance mumbles, suddenly shy, “with extra caramel.”

Keith snorted, “Diabetes.”

“Hey!” Lance exclaimed defensively. “It’s good!”

“Of course it is,” replied Keith, amused. “It’s basically liquid sugar.”

“Oh, hush, you,” the Cuban responded flippantly. “What are you getting?”

“Tea.” There’s a pause, before he added, “Royal English breakfast.”

“Sounds pretentious,” said the taller of the two, although he is mildly impressed by the other’s “mature” palette.

“Exactly,” Beanie said pleasantly. “Perfect for me.”

Lance choked out a laugh, surprised. Maybe it was Lance’s anger goggles, but he didn’t think the smaller boy would even be able to attempt at humor. Then again, Keith did sport a bit of a resting bitch face which probably did influence Lance’s perception of him.

“I’ll go get our drinks then,” smiled Keith.

Lance leaned forward onto his hands, eyes trailing Keith’s retreating form. The boy was cute, yes. Kind of rude. Blunt, but adorable, and kinda sorta maybe one hundred percent Lance’s type. He had longish black hair, with bangs that fell prettily into his eyes. His black hoodie was a little bit oversized (seriously, who needed to be that warm in California?), but his skinny jeans showed that he had a little bit more muscle definition than what was typical for a fifteen year old. Lance hadn’t had any relationships in his life yet, and thus hadn’t yet fully explored his sexuality. He didn’t feel any rush to put any labels on himself just yet, but he was pretty open to all genders. He leant a little bit more toward girls, but, damn, did Keith put all of that into question.

His musing was interrupted by the soft plop of a drink on the table in front of him.

“One caramel frap with extra caramel,” Keith stated. Lance didn’t know how he never noticed before, but his red combat boots looked kind of badass.

“Thanks, man,” replied Lance graciously. He scrunched up his nose, “You said caramel all weird though.”

“What?”

“You said _car-muhl_ ,” Lance enunciated slowly, as though he were speaking to a child. “Even though it’s actually pronounced _care-uh-mel_.”

Keith had an exasperated expression on his face, “Are you serious?”

“Very,” Lance deadpanned.

The boy in the beanie let out an airy chuckle at that, “You’re the funny guy, aren’t you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Lance questioned defensively, crossing his arms.

“Nothing,” Keith shook his head, smiling into a sip of his tea. “You know, I realized something while ordering your drink.”

“Yeah?”

“I never got your name.”

“Seriously?” Lance blinked, trying to remember. “I guess not. The name’s Lance, by the way.”

“Cool,” said Keith, holding out his hand. “I’m Keith.”

“I know,” Lance took a large swig of his drink. “It was on your friendly note you gave me earlier.”

“Oh,” the Korean said sheepishly, “sorry. My, uh…friend, I guess, tells me I’m kind of lacking in social skills or whatever. That was kind of the reason I was so relentless in paying you back. I hate leaving off the wrong impression, even though that’s what ends up happening most of the time.” He twiddled his thumbs shyly. “I come across as pretty rude, for some reason. Shiro says I have resting bitch face syndrome, whatever that means.”

“It’s when you look like you want to kill a bitch constantly,” Lance explained helpfully, wondering who this “Shiro” character was in the back of his mind. “But that bitch is about everyone within a fifty mile radius.”

“Huh,” Keith chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. Lance was suddenly overcome by the urge to lick it. Gross. “Seems like a fairly accurate assessment of how I feel ninety percent of the time.”

Lance let out a little giggle at that, which seemed to surprise Keith. He looked at him with slightly rounder eyes, making him look like cute little deer.

“Y’know, dude—” (Keith scrunched up his nose a little at the ridiculously Californian term.) “—you’re a pretty funny guy.”

Keith’s surprise seemed to heighten, “Really? No one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Maybe they just don’t have any sense of humor then,” Lance finished off his drink. “‘Kay, I’m done. I’m gonna go hit up Lush.” He hesitated, “Wanna come with?”

Keith took another sip of his tea, almost mournfully.

“Um, Lush isn’t really my thing…,” he trailed off.

“Fair enough,” said Lance. He didn’t really want to part ways with him just yet, though. “But we can compromise then. You pick where we eat lunch.”

Keith blinked, looking stunned, before his response tumbled from his lips almost automatically.

“Sure.”

(They ended up at Chipotle because Keith had never gone and wanted to try. Lance ended up forcing a two dollar tea tree toner tab into Keith’s backpack, and Keith waved half-heartedly as Lance and Veronica drive off into the distance.)

“Keith seems pretty sweet, _y es tremendo mango_ ,” Veronica side-eyed him with a smirk.

“ _Cállate, Ronnie,_ ” Lance grumbled under his breath. “I guess he isn’t so bad.”

* * *

“Keith is literally the worst and I hate him.”

“Who the fuck is Keith?” cried Luis. “It’s five am, dude!”

“Apparently, he’s my coworker,” Lance hissed, glaring at the email he received from Mr. Barnett. “I don’t have enough work experience or whatever so he hired both of us because he liked us best.”

“Sounds like a good thing to me,” Luis groaned from underneath his pillow. “Why are you complaining, you little fucknut?”

“This is terrible!” Lance moaned dramatically. “This was supposed to be my time to shine. I was going to wow the manager, which I did, and completely wipe all competition off the list of contenders.”

“Well, you made the cut,” Lance’s older brother stated groggily. “So take what you get and don’t throw a fucking fit.”

“That’s not how the saying goes,” Lance retorts mildly.

“Shut up and go to _sleep_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Que pasó? - What happened?  
> lo siento, yo quiero decir - sorry, i meant to say  
> Cálmate, cielito - calm down, [term of endearment]  
> No es necesario ser tan dramático - you don't have to be so dramatic  
> Mamá, te veré más tarde - mom, i'll see you later  
> Ronnie me está recogiendo en una hora, y acabo de ver lo más genial cosa en una tienda. Te amo, y adiós. - Ronnie is picking me up in an hour, and I just saw the coolest thing in a store. I love you, bye.  
> Espere - wait  
> y es tremendo mango - and [he] is so hot (cuban colloquialism hopefully? i looked it up lmao)  
> Cállate - shut up
> 
> all spanish is just looked up ahahah. i looked up cuban colloquialisms bc idk. i have no idea how this mess is going to end up. constructive criticism welcome. feedback in general welcome. comment pls im desperate.


End file.
